


Alternatives

by pringlesaremydivision



Category: Royal Tenenbaums (2001)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-03-23
Updated: 2004-03-23
Packaged: 2017-12-23 06:21:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/923033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pringlesaremydivision/pseuds/pringlesaremydivision
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Does it hurt?" Eli asks, his voice muffled against Richie's shoulder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alternatives

**Author's Note:**

> Just moving some stuff over from Livejournal.

"I was never in love with her," Eli tells Richie quietly, his voice almost swallowed up by the noise in the park. He pulls off his hat and twists the brim, curling, uncurling. Shifting a little, partly to keep the sun out of his eyes, partly to keep Richie fully in his sight, he sighs, his gaze settling on the bandages on Richie's arms. The tape-wrapped cotton swatches are stark, tangible reminders of everything he might have lost.  
  
He sighs again.  
  
"In love with who?" asks Richie, his voice octaves below normal and near-impassive.  
  
His fingers twitch faintly, belying his disinterest.  
  
Eli shifts again, sees himself reflected in Richie's sunglasses, and has to fight the urge to pull them off his face.  
  
"Did she tell you all we ever talked about was you?" he says instead, and watches Richie's fingers twitch again. Seconds tick by, filled with the sound of raucous child-like laughter and shouts, and Eli thinks he can hear his own heartbeat mixed in with it.  
  
"Are you on drugs right now?" Richie counters, and Eli doesn't even have it in him to get angry, because it's a valid point.  
  
"No, man. No. I'm not."  
  
"Then what are you doing?"  
  
Eli puts his hat back on and stands up. The wind blows the fringe on his jacket and he thinks about the way it would blow Richie's hair into his eyes, if Richie still had hair, if Richie weren't wearing those motherfucking sunglasses.  
  
"Did she tell you that?" he questions again. His own fingers twitch at his sides and after a moment he gives in, tugs the sunglasses off and steps into Richie's line of vision so he's got nowhere else to look.  
  
Richie sighs and tilts his head up, squinting a little. "Yes. Yes, she told me that. But I don't see what that has to do with - "  
  
Eli holds up one hand, cuts Richie off with his mouth in the shape of an 'a'. "Did she tell you that whenever I kissed her all I could think about was you?" Eli laughs, sudden and quiet and bitter. "I bet she didn't tell you that, did she."  
  
Richie blinks, once, twice, and again, in rapid succession. He opens his mouth, shuts it with a click of teeth, and then opens it again a second later. "No. She didn't tell me that." He looks down at his arms, face twisted into a grimace, and then looks up again. "She didn't tell me that."  
  
Eli turns his back, tilts his hat down and his face up, and stares into the sun. "It was always about you," he whispers, and doesn't turn around to see if Richie's heard him because really, there's not much of a point. "Always about you," he repeats, laughs a little again and shakes his head.  
  
"Eli," comes Richie's voice from near his ear, and Eli jumps a little and this time he does turn around. Turns around and there's Richie standing right in front of him, and all Eli can do is sigh again, wistful and forlorn.  
  
"Come here," Richie says, and Eli wraps his arms tight around him before the words are even out of his mouth. He laughs a little too, and Eli can't hold it against him, and it's maudlin laughter anyway.  
  
Eli is a master at categorizing laughter, at labeling smiles. It's a bonus, a perk of living on the periphery of the Tenenbaum household.  
  
"I'm sorry," Richie says, and his bandages scrape against the sensitive skin of Eli's neck, making goosebumps rise and his hair stand up.  
  
"Does it hurt?" Eli asks, his voice muffled against Richie's shoulder. He's aware that he's grasping the back of Richie's shirt so tightly it's probably warping the fabric but he can't make himself let go.  
  
Richie takes a breath and lets it out. "It could be worse," he says after a moment, slow and contemplative.  
  
Eli considers this. Pulls his head back and watches the sun fleck Richie's eyes gold, takes a minute to memorize the moment, and then lets go, disentangling his fingers from Richie's shirt and stepping out of his grasp.  
  
For a moment his entire body feels frozen, numb, and he wants nothing more than to make the movements that would put him securely back in Richie's arms. He thinks about Margot, about her sad eyes and secrecy and everything they have in common, and he thinks about the night of his fifteenth birthday when he spent the night at Richie's and he kissed him, quickly, chastely, all the while surrounded by half-finished portraits of Margot. The incident was never repeated, but it has stuck in Eli's memory ever since.  
  
Then he thinks about blood and shaving cream and ocean liners and every time he spent the night at Richie's and didn't kiss him, which was every night apart from that one, and he thinks Richie is maybe not entirely that far off.  
  
"It could be worse," Eli echoes, quietly but with conviction. Richie searches his face, smiles a little, unsteady and unsure, and after a short delay, Eli smiles back.  
  
"Come on," he says, and claps Richie on the shoulder gently, tilting his hat back up so he can see. "Let's go."


End file.
